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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096117">Scribbles</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristalMagic/pseuds/ChristalMagic'>ChristalMagic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan Deserves Happiness, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, dad arthur morgan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:20:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>929</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30096117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChristalMagic/pseuds/ChristalMagic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Got this idea in a group chat talking about how Arthur deserves to have the chance at being a good father with a family that loves him dearly and his daughter loves to draw.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur Morgan/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Scribbles</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Started writing this. Had a nap. Finished it and teared up a little. Hope you enjoy it!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
<p>
  <span>"Pa! Pa I made you something" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The taps of little bare feet on the cabin floor made their way to where Arthur was sat in the main living area. Filled bag at his side ready for the few days of travel ahead to purchase a breeding stallion. <br/></span>
  <span>Breeding, training and rearing horses is a passion of his, and thankfully there is a booming market for it in the parts of the country that don't yet have motor wagons. <br/></span>
  <span>Horses are his passion, but the thing that gives him life is the very thing bounding towards him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Three years old, a great mop of dusty blonde hair, pale blue eyes, her mother’s short temper and a new love for drawing. Little Beatrice, Bea for short, Bumble Bee when she would buzz around the gardens needing to inspect every flower there was to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"What you got?" He questioned as she climbed up on the couch to sit on his lap, paper waving in her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I drawn this." She handed the now crumpled folded paper from her tiny fists over to him, her toothy smile illuminating the space and his heart.<br/></span>
  <span>As he preceded to gently unfold it, excited to see her creation she slapped a hand over his own to halt his progress. <br/><br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He often thought that he didn't merit having those hands in his own. </span>
  <span>His large and rough hands once brought immeasurable pain and suffering to others in the past. </span>
  <span>Covered in dirt and blood more than love and affection. In recent years the only time blood would be on him would be when the mares are foaling. Bringing life into the world instead of taking it. <br/></span>
  <span>He still had those lingering thoughts of him being undeserving to have such small, delicate, innocent hands wrapped in his own, but each time she held on those thoughts would be pushed back and dissipate into the dark corners of his mind that he couldn't reach.<br/></span>
  <span>He thought his wife had the monumental task of changing his life. This one did it without even trying. <br/><br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't look now. Look when you are missing me and Momma and Bear and Lily." She instructed. He would be a fool not to follow. <br/></span>
  <span>Bear and Lily currently nowhere to be found. Bear, the large mountain dog probably out guarding the grounds. He's big and mean when needed but he's nothing more than a spoilt puppy. <br/></span>
  <span>Lily, the cat with fur as white as fresh snow that wandered in one night and hasn't left since was more than likely taking her anger out on the rats that try to eat up the crops and flowers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur nodded down at her, folding up the paper again and carefully putting it into his satchel. <br/></span>
  <span>He picked her up then, balancing her on his side with an arm around her and her arms wrapping around his neck. Picking up his packed bag and heading out the door to their home. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It didn't take long for him to find you, tending to the blackcurrant bushes you planted two years ago. Preening and weeding, almost prime for the picking </span>
  <span>He let down Bea as they got closer, her bare feet getting covered in dirt as she ran to inspect the berries. Asking for the hundredth time this week if they are ready to eat yet.  </span>
  <span>You shake your head, telling her "All good things come to those who wait." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How true that is.<br/><br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meeting you for a kiss and you making sure he’s got everything he needs for the journey for the second time that day. </span>
  <span>Kissing you once more and then kneeling down to place a firm kiss on the top of Bea’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you in a couple of days. You be good now.” He points down sternly, the smile on his face betraying him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I always am Pa.” She looks up at Arthur, her eyes squinting from the morning sun shining behind him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur scoffing with a hint of scepticism.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that he made his way over to his horse, stowing his bag securely onto its croup before mounting. </span>
  <span>Looking over his shoulder Bea was now placed on your hip, both watching him kick his heels in and spurring the horse into a slow walk. Looking back as you both waved him farewell.<br/><br/></span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was barely outside of the fence line to your home, trees now obscuring his view of the two of you when he pulled out the paper he was given not 10 minutes ago. Dropping the reins to unfold it with both hands as to not lose it to the breeze. </span>
  <span>The page was adorned with splashes of graphite and the colour pencils she only used for special occasions. He could tell she tried her hardest to colour inside the lines. </span>
  <span>Three figures stood at the centre with the smallest in the middle, two creatures at their side. Yellow in the corner and green at their feet. </span>
  <span>You’re in your favourite yellow blouse and working pants. He in his old blue striped shirt and riding jeans. Bea in her prized blue dress with the frills. Multiple bees buzzing around the multicoloured flowers in our hair. </span>
  <span>His smile one mimicking the one in the drawing, giving the piece another look over before folding it up again the way it was and positioning it tightly into the back of his journal. Making sure it won’t fall out before slipping his journal back into the satchel at his side. </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur didn't think he deserved any of this. But he knew she deserved the world and more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
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